Detoured Poem by Hannington Mumo

Deft tiptoing of enemy feet
Trails progress of this ink;
Such that when one word
I pen I must pose to think.

Usurping hand's derailment
Detracts my scribblings too;
So when firing thoughts stir,
I lose lucid inspiration's glue.

Weirdest passions do this quill
Assail with craftiest forces still;
Turning minutes of finest Muse
Into dullest bouts the poet rues.

And so what might this scribbler
Do to halt such thievish assaults;
Decadent schemes blunting wits,
Shoving this bard to idler's faults?